


Storm Front.

by sherlockollins (sherlokollins)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:10:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlokollins/pseuds/sherlockollins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cassie are holed up in a motel room, sitting out a ferocious storm.<br/>Tensions are running high and politeness has run it's course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Front.

Cassie and Dean were seriously pissed. They had wound each other up to their limits; Dean was being totally ignorant and Cassie was, well, useless.

They were both grouchy and tired and had throbbing headaches from each other and the world outside. The couple had been holed up in a tiny motel room in the middle of Houston for three bitter days due to a giant storm system raging overhead. The radio and television crews had urged people to stay inside and keep dry, whilst the wind and rain whipped at the windows and roof and door. No hunter could work in these conditions, anyway; every supernatural being would have the common sense to go back to Hell or into hiding.

This fact was lost on Dean Winchester. He was currently hunched over last week’s newspaper, looking for any hint of a case, ignoring the rain buffeting the window next to him. He’d mulled over the stack of papers to the right of him, to no avail. Dean had had to revert to the completely medieval task of newspaper reading owing to the lack of wifi and the absence of radio.

Dean hated storms, but not as much as his partner. Cassie wasn’t handling the storm very well. In fact, she wasn’t handling the storm at all. The lightening sent shockwaves through the angel radio and her wings had been blown behind her in the horizontal rain; almost dragging herself over in the process. She had a splitting headache because of her disturbed mind and she couldn’t simply zap herself out of the motel; the lightening had fucked that power up too.

She was curled up in the double bed, the sheets dumped on top of her small figure, a wet flannel resting over her burning forehead and her deep breaths leaving a warm, damp air in the duvet fort around her. It was dark. She liked that; it lessened the throbbing migraine ever so slightly.

After the first day of the storm, Cassie had given up with making herself presentable. On the first day in Houston, she’d shoved a smile on her vessel’s face and ignored her aching head, she’d helped Dean go through the radio stations and news channels, and let the flashing colours and booming sounds seize her brain and crush it to a pulp, whilst ignoring the thunder and lightning outside.

What a mistake that was.

And one other thing; human drugs don’t work on angels.

Cassie was now curled in the fetal position, immobile and a totally shitty excuse for an angel. She was dressed in Dean’s pyjama bottoms and her week-old bra. Even her hair was pissed at her; it lay in an unruly black halo around her head, knotted and overly greasy. No wonder she was moany and bitchy and downright pissed off about it. She wasn’t an angel anymore… She was exactly what ashamed her the most: she was a pained and upset little girl, with a pounding head and insomnia- nowhere near the all-powerful seraph that she was meant to be. Dean, when she’d first started complaining about her pulsing head and decreasing powers -along with her omnipresent depersonalisation- as a joke had said… He’d…

He’d called it PMS.

And Cas had slapped him with all of the angelic power that she could muster.

It was lucky that she didn’t have a lot of angelic power to muster…Dean wasn’t funny and frankly, it was an awful joke. She hadn’t meant to react like that, but she could barely think straight. Cassie thought that it was probably her vessel’s reaction kicking in: Jem Novak was a bit of a melodramatic.

She’d left a small slit in Dean’s freckly cheek, surrounded by a painful smattering of blue and purple. Cassie felt indecisive about her action. She’d told Sam Winchester to not say stupid things, so why did his older brother? But was a proper ‘bitch slap’ really the answer?

Cassie tossed these things in her mind and came to a conclusion…

She didn’t really care. Let her ‘temperamental and completely irritable attitude piss Dean off some more.

After the angelic slap, Dean hadn’t wanted to set a foot near his temperamental and completely irritable angel since then.

After that, things had only gotten worse. The TV and radio had cut off, there was limited power and the hot water had disappeared too. The only saviour was the fact that the motel was a little bit classier than the rest, with proper floors, ceilings, windows and doors. There were no leakages from the outside violent storm, although the frenzied wind had threatened to blow in the windows once or twice. The lightning split the sky overhead, and split Cassie’s head as well.

Cassie’s head had throbbed constantly for the past three days, and a fever was slowly starting to set in. Her stomach was rumbling- she couldn’t keep down their usual diet of fast food and beer- and a flush of red was starting to settle on the apples of her cheeks.

Death had to be better than this, she thought, almost hopefully.

The hand towel on Cassie’s forehead started to droop into her fatigued eyes. She nudged her chin upwards, bending her neck, in an attempt to slide it back onto her clammy brows; spreading tremors of icy pain all over her inky-haired cranium. Cassie closed her eyes and tried to let the throbbing pass. She waited… And waited… And waited.

It didn’t relent.

A crash of thunder ricocheted off of the motel room walls, and something snapped in Cassie’s mind: She had reached her pain threshold.

She couldn’t do this alone, no matter how irritable the aid.

‘Dean!’ a wispy croak escaped her throat. She heard a low groan from the other side of the room accompanied by the muffled sound of a bottle being slammed down heavily on the table, and muted footsteps leading their way to the bed. Low, aggravated mutters seeped from Dean’s lips.

Cassie covered her ears; it was getting too much.

Even through the pain Cas could hear her hunter raise his right eyebrow in annoyance. She also knew that Dean’s arms would be folded irritably, and his lips pursed in frustration. Cassie closed her eyes.

Dean’s muffled speech reached her ears; ‘What is it that you require, my lady?’ Dean grumbled, almost civilly. Cassie frowned underneath the uncomfortably warm flannel and duvet fort. This wasn’t Dean… Dean was mean and grouchy after years of looking after his brother; he didn’t want to look after anyone-

Oh. Sarcasm.

‘You know can’t help you!’ Ah, the usual Dean was back; Cassie’s perfect, unhelpful hunter.

She raised her hands from her ears and propelled them above the duvet, to meet cold, stale air. Making sure that her eyes were still firmly shut, she grasped her pale hand around the edge of the sheet and tugged it down, over her head of messy black hair, over her sticky forehead and warm flannel, over her almost-bare torso, over the hem of Dean’s grey yoga pants, until she physically couldn’t drag it any more. She dropped her hands and the sheets with a tired ‘humph!’

She heard a snigger from Dean’s direction.

Cassie brushed her hand towards him, impatiently. 

‘The lights had better be off, you contemptuous jerk’. Her voice was raspy: she sounded totally and utterly ill. The monotone drawls of her usual self had disappeared; she sounded like a sneering school girl. Her powerful voice was gone. That voice had led armies into battle. Armies in to battle.

She was just a silly little girl. strip a girl’s angelic powers away, and that’s what you get, I suppose, thought Cas with a sigh.

A groan and shuffling boots told Cas that Dean was finally heading to the light switch by the door. She didn’t want to open her eyes just yet; what if he didn’t actually turn the light off? Dean was back by her side; hands cupped her neck and lead her throbbing head gently upwards. He peeled the moist flannel tenderly off of her forehead.

He was delicate, very delicate.

A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky outside, lighting up the motel room and the black skies and the insides of Cassie’s eyelids. It also lit up the pain receptors in her head, and the roll of thunder bounced around the interior of her skull. She winced and threw her hands to her ears again, whilst she screwed her eyes shut tighter, and her legs drew up sharply. She felt Dean’s breath tickle her neck as he withdrew his hands from the her spine. 

Dean tutted and muttered two words, irritably; ‘damn reflexes…’

Cassie was a tense ball of pain.

He plonked himself gently on to the edge of the bed and laid a cold, comforting hand over Cassie’s clammy temple to sooth her head, only slightly. She tried to recoil and then…

She removed her hands from around her ears.

Dean’s calming singing voice murmured the first few lines of ‘Hey Jude’, the bars mingling in the small space between Dean and Cassie and then reached her ears… The effect was immediate. Her grimace melted under Dean’s soothing touch. She relaxed her muscles and turned her aching body towards the hunter.

She loosened her clenched fists and trailed her fingers over the crisp motel linen, reaching, yearning for Dean’s touch.

Dean clasped her hand tight.

Her heavy eyelids opened slowly, to let her drowsy eyes adjust to the half light… Her long black lashes eventually tickled the edge of Dean’s palm. Her big blue eyes swivelled to the unmistakeable outline of Dean Winchester sitting to her left. His mossy eyes found her overly-tired ones and his face lit up with a tiny half-smile.

‘I’m sorry I bruised your pretty cheek, Dean…’ The awkward murmur had escaped Cassie’s lips before she could think about it. She gazed at Dean, hoping that he wasn’t going to be the same infuriating guy that he’d been for the past couple of days. She was expecting a sarcastic quip or at least a bitchface. He didn’t say a word, although his smile faltered. He frowned.

Shit.

His green eyes flitted worryingly over Cassie’s wretched face. Dean reached the for the damp pillow underneath Cassie’s head. He then slid his hand gently down her cheek and cupped her head lightly in his palm. Cassie fluttered her tired eyes to the panelled ceiling above them. Dean followed her gaze. She could sense something…  
The storm was starting to slow it’s menacing pace.

And then, all at once, it was over. The water ceased its relentless pursuit of flooding and the wind became a humid, lazy breeze. There were a few drips to fall overhead; the last raindrops from one of the biggest storm systems to date. Cas could suddenly see everything again, without any blurriness from her pain. She could feel her sore and aching muscles, but her mind was completely clear; the throbbing pain that had been building up over the past three days gently slid away.

It was over.

Cassie smiled a huge smile, whilst Dean frowned. The physical scars from their stormy ordeal were still there; Dean’s bruised cheek and the giant black bags under Cassie’s eyes. And her wild hair. And her chapped lips. And her crappy stench.

Dean sized Cassie up, and exclaimed a totally inconsiderate; ‘You look like shit!’ with a bark of uncontrollable laughter.

He giggled mercilessly, and went to smile widely. He winced and a hand flew up to his small cut and blossoming bruise, as if to pet it better. Cassie threw her head back and laughed a throaty chortle. She felt tired and achy, but she felt good. She guessed supposed that slapping your boyfriend would do that to you.

An inviting smile spread across her lips.

And she and Dean weren’t pissed at each other any more; like the rain, any resent had evaporated from themselves, along with Cassie’s fever and migraine.

It was all going to be fine.

Cassie and Dean instantly found each other.

Dean looped his arms around Cassie’s back and kissed her with all of the ferociousness that he dared. She responded eagerly, tangling her hands into Dean’s sandy hair, her legs around his hips and tummy and her tongue dancing in and out of his beer-tinged mouth. She reached down and unfastened the metal button of his jeans, as he squirmed underneath her. And then-

He pulled away and smiled broadly. Dean cocked his eyebrow mischievously, whilst a cheeky glint appeared in his eye. Cassie frowned. His smile didn’t waver, although his eyes slid all over Cassie’s body. She watched him intently.

‘You, uh…’ his nose crinkled as he giggled ‘still not wired up to angel radio?’ Cassie grinned and rolled her eyes.

She responded with a snort and a very earnest answer; ‘Heaven can wait for you, Dean.’ His smile grew even bigger. He placed both of his hands on her slim shoulders and peered into her beautiful aquamarine eyes.

‘You are perfect Cas, just perf-whuooh’, His last word was smothered by Cassie’s lips over his, her mouth wanting to taste more, her tongue wandering and her hands too.

He responded with such enthusiasm that he managed to shift the pair of them smoothly onto the white bedsheets and crumpled duvet behind him. He was on top, and trailing warm, wet kisses and licks along Cassie’s neck and chin and along her shoulders and collarbones whilst pulling her grey pyjama bottoms down as she kicked them off.

Cassie’s hands ran up and down Dean’s plaid-shirted back. She traced them up his neck and settled them back into his hair, drawing him closer to him. She dug her nails into his scalp. Dean let a small, happy groan escape his lips. He pulled the shirt over his head and threw it into the room whilst manoeuvring the both of them roughly to the headboard.

Dean moved his lips back to hers, ravenous for more. He pulled her closer, warm bellies touching, hip bones grinding, the elastics of knickers and boxers catching.

In between kisses and hickeys and thrusts, a rosy glow could be seen settling on both Cassie and Dean’s cheeks. They were a lot more than hot under the collar, and they both wanted so much more. Cassie knotted her hands into Dean’s short hair and pulled him closer…

As she had said, Heaven could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
